


Part Four Bonus Feature

by lilsmartass



Series: First Impressions: DVD Extras [4]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers friendship - Freeform, Companion Piece, Flashbacks, Gen, Illusions, Loki is a dick, Main Character Death, Manipulation, Probable PTSD, Psychological Torture, Themes of suicide, mindcontrol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Clint was still aware throughout Maladjusted Heroes and Mistaken Geniuses and honestly, the experience was one of the most traumatic things he’s ever been expected to endure. That doesn’t mean he’s going to talk about it. Companion piece to part four of First Impressions and Second Chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/866866) by [lilsmartass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass). 



> Rating: PG-15  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Clint, mindfuckery, swearing, manipulation, psychological torture, themes of subjugation and non sexual violation, main character death and suicide. I don’t wish to spoiler anything, I should probably note that those with serious triggers involving suicidal thoughts and mindcontrol may want to be careful. Also, although the relationship here between Loki and Clint is entirely unsexual, this is non-con in every way but that and draws on a lot of the themes and images from stories using rape as a central element.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen (background), pre-slash, protective!Clint  
> Beta: Melpemone

** Part 4 Bonus Feature **

****

**Agent:** Specialist Clinton Francis Barton **Code Name:** Hawkeye **Serial Number:** 30049670 **Handler:** Senior Agent Philip Coulson

 **Current Deployment:** Avengers Initiative, New York City

 **Attending Psychiatrist:** Doctor Mandy Anderson

 **Reason(s) for Session:** Capture in hostile territory, psychological torture, exposure to magic and other non-scientifically verifiable consciousness altering agents (see medical form P1371).

 **Asset Status:** Inactive

 **Session Number:** 1

She is younger than he was expecting. Clint is aware he has a bad reputation in the psych department, and he had been expecting to see someone old and venerable, with enough years under his belt (and it was always a guy, these days) to be immune to Clint’s defiant refusal to cooperate. Instead, Doctor Anderson is young – younger than him. She’s somewhere in her mid-twenties, dressed in a suit that flatters her ample curves and with a mass of red hair held up in a bun by a pair of ornamental chopsticks.

She smiles at him as she enters the room. Clint returns the expression, adding a deliberate leer and a condescending edge. “Morning, sweetheart. You here to keep me company until my doctor gets here?”

She raises an eyebrow, and her own welcoming expression turns mocking. “Really, Agent Barton? An insult about my age? Gender? It’s not even original. And if you’re half as good as they say you are, you knew who I was long before you even showed up.”

Clint huffs impatiently and flops heavily into a chair into an insolent sprawl as she drops a stack of papers behind her desk and leans a hip against its edge . “That’s good, someone who handles insults well. You’ll go far. Look, can you just mark down that I’m not absent so I can go? I have to be here, but since I’m not actually planning on talking to you, I’m sure we’ve both got better things to do with the hour than sit and stare at each other.”

She gives him a warm, friendly smile. “You know I can’t do that.”

Clint tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. He could move one of those tiles aside and be in the vents before she could even stand upright, but he knows it won’t help. Shoving aside the ever present tide of anger welling in his chest, he grumbles under his breath. “Fine. _Fine._ What do you want to know?”

Clint can see her relax slightly, and she takes the seat next to him, a studied move that avoids the bulk of the desk between them. “What do you think I should know?”

He straightens a little, rolling his shoulders in a loose shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.”

She nods. “Your doctor hasn’t noted any medical reason for your amnesia.” Her tone is neutral, inoffensive, and Clint smiles brightly, a sharp edge to his expression.

“I never remember my dreams.”

“And that’s what you think this was? A dream?”

“That’s what Thor’s mom says.”

“I was under the impression that it was a world where your… essence… was trapped outside of your physical body.”

“Yeah, a dream.”

She nods again, and this time doesn’t contradict him. “So you remember nothing of your capture. Tell me, what’s the last thing you do remember?”

Clint hesitates for a second, considering. “My trial. I was on the helicarrier, I was…” he pauses, and shoots her a considering glance from under his eyelashes. “I was defending my previous actions to the WSC and all the lights went out. That’s it.”

“You don’t remember Loki at all?”

“Nope.”

“How strange.”

Clint gasps affectedly, one hand covering his chest. “I don’t think you’re supposed to call me a liar, doctor.”

“I said no such thing.”

She’s calmness personified. It infuriates him. “Well, if you believe me can’t you just write down that I’m fine except for a little localised amnesia – not that uncommon, nor cause for medical concern after an incident of appropriate severity according to medical regulations – and let me go home?”

She gives another of those slow, considering nods. “Perhaps. But I’d like to talk a bit more first. Tell me more about your hearing. What exactly can you remember?”

_*_

_Even in the dark, Clint recognises him instantly. For one long, shameful moment, he’s nothing but glad that Phil and Tasha are there, beside him; between him and the one he fears most. A low sound escapes him that he hopes to god no one else hears._

_Loki is sneering, amused and untroubled by the weapons pointed at him, unconcerned that all of the Avengers and more than thirty highly trained agents are in the room. Clint’s heart quails._

_Loki glances around, but the dark doesn’t seem to hinder him at all. Clint can feel the god’s depthless eyes fixed on him when he says gently, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Did you miss me, Little Bird?”_

_Natasha shifts forward and to the side, standing squarely between him and the face of his worst nightmare. He wants to scream, the sight of her helpless in front of him more than he can stand, but the air seems to have frozen to ice in his chest and he can’t move, can’t breathe._

_Fury breaks the stalemate. “We thought you were on Asgard.”_

_“With my_ beloved brother _grubbing down here with you worms, it was easy enough to charm my way out of my bonds. Stay still!” His words freeze the agents edging slowly behind him and Clint feels magic in the command, zinging over his skin like static electricity._

_Fury is, as ever, uncowed. “Now what? Another army? More lives wasted?”_

_“Not my life.” Loki’s hair falls around his face as he turns. “Where is my brother?”_

_“I am here, Loki.” Thor‘s voice is clear, but his hands clench and unclench at his side. Thor is as unarmed as Clint himself, and_ damn _SHIELD for not allowing him at least a boot knife, anything so he’s not quite so fucking_ helpless.

_Loki’s focus shifts instantly, intently on Thor. Apparently, he still hasn’t learned that the Avengers can be a danger to him._

_Clint’s dimly aware that Tony is moving – what the fuck’s he doing, he’s got a light strapped to his chest, Loki will see, Loki will_ look _at him – and Steve steps up, his shoulder nudging Thor’s, silent support for his team mate deliberate, obvious, and another variable for Loki to focus on. Tony doesn’t take advantage of the distraction to disappear into the crowd; his voice sounding clearly from the far side of the room, loud, confident, barely even a quaver. Clint envies him his courage – he still can’t move, hypnotised to fear-dictated stillness._

_“Can’t believe you’re back, Reindeer Games! I thought we’d shown you what a bad idea this was the last time. You do know the definition of insanity, right? It’s repeating the same action over and over again whilst expecting a different outcome. Though, I have looked into your eyes and let me tell you, you’ve got some serious crazy eyes going on there, so maybe the definition of insanity isn’t really all that relevant to you.” Tony is moving towards Loki, his posture relaxed and easy, drawing every eye in the room._

_Attention badly divided between Tony and Tash and Loki – eyes always on Loki – Clint is first to see the twitch of movement._

_“Impudent mortal,” Loki mocks, and he’s cradling a bright purple ball of energy in his palms._

_He’s looking right at Tony and… no. Just… no. Energy prickles as it flows back into his muscles and, without allowing himself to think, Clint gives a raw-sounding cry and barrels past Natasha, slamming bodily into Loki. They both crash to the floor, and the purple light, meant for Tony, flies the wrong way and, instead, sinks into Fury’s shoulder._

_The director of SHIELD falls silently to the ground. It’s enough to distract Clint for one crucial second, realising he’s failed SHIELD_ again _, and Loki is laughing, low enough that no one but them can hear. With one smooth, abrupt movement, he smashes an elbow into Clint’s face. Dazed, ears ringing, he flops sideways._

_When he next looks up, the room has exploded in uproar. There are multi-coloured beams of light which can only be magic shooting wildly around the room to the sound of gunfire and Hill’s calm orders. Clint forces himself to his feet and moves blindly in one direction, his much-lauded eyesight near-useless in this. He presses back against a wall, trying to get his racing heart under control, study the scene in front of him, locate the target._

_Then, Steve’s next to him. Their eyes lock for a second, but before either can say anything, Tony’s there too, lurching out of the chaos._

_“This is a nightmare, Cap,” says Tony. “We can’t achieve anything like this.”_

_Steve opens his mouth, but before he has a chance to answer, Loki’s gaunt face, lit eerily by the light of the Arc reactor, smiles at them from a mere foot away._

_“Nightmare? If you wish, Man of Iron.”_

_There is a cloud of blue, coming from everywhere and nowhere, a whirling sensation like being in free fall, and then, for a long and blissful moment, there’s nothing._

_When he opens his eyes again, he’s in a room of nothing but blinding white. The floor, walls and ceiling are all the same shiny, reflective nothing colour, making it hard to tell how big the room is. It makes him dizzy and he slams his eyes shut against the nausea.  Only to open them, startling back in panic as Loki touches his face._

_“You never answered my question. Did you miss me, Little One?”_

_Clint starts, and hisses like an angry cat. “Of course not.” His voice is mercifully level._

_Loki gives that amused twisting of his face, too subtle to be called a smile. “You can’t lie to me. You crave it, the simplicity of it. Not being the one to decide if your actions were right or wrong, only one voice you needed to listen to.”_

_The voice is steady, reasonable. A voice anyone would want to listen to. Clint knows –_ knows _– it says nothing but poison. He stumbles back another pace, even as he readies himself for a fight. “I’m not yours. I won’t be- Not again.”_

_Loki regards him levelly, the same subtle, cruel amusement lighting his features. “Is it my taking your heart that you fear so, Little Hawk?”_

_Clint doesn’t move, doesn’t answer, but he knows his eyes betray him, and Loki’s smile widens a fraction. “You should have said. You must not fear to tell me what you need. I am a benevolent god; I care for my supplicants.”_

_Clint musters the last gasping shreds of his courage and lunges forward, swinging wildly. Loki is caught off guard, fist impacting across his angular face. It’s like punching marble and pain throbs from knuckles to wrist. “I’m_ no one’s _supplicant. Least of all_ yours _,” he spits through it._

_Loki laughs lightly, a genteel, tinkling sound, and brings up a hand to wipe the blood from his lip. “Indeed. But still, I shall do you this favour to prove to you I am not as sadistic as you would have me painted. You fear giving your thoughts and soul to me?  I shall make you mine in naught but body. A mere tool, instead of my right hand.”_

_The low, caressing tone frightens him more than the words, but Clint has had enough of standing hypnotised and trembling before Loki. He’s never allowed fear to stop him before, and this is far from the first time someone with power over him has abused that power. Snarling, he spits on the ground at Loki’s feet. “My girlfriend makes better threats.”_

_“Perhaps one day I shall hear them for myself. I have never heard her threaten, merely mewl and beg for your life.”_

_Clint feels his momentum falter. Tasha has never begged for anything. She wouldn’t even know how. “She was lying, she was playing you. The wounded gazelle gambit always works on the stupid ones.”_

_Loki’s eyes don’t darken at the insult, and no anger breaks that serene satisfaction. He shrugs carelessly. “If you’re sure. You know her better after all.”_

_He steps forward, and Clint steps back,  instinct overriding everything, but he still manages to leer sarcastically. “Not surprised you fell for her act, though. You can’t do anything right. Even Coulson survived your spear. And Tony had the trench the Hulk smashed into the floor with you covered with glass, a trophy of our victory.” That part isn’t true but hey, Clint grew up in the circus, never let the truth get in the way of a good story and all that._

_Loki’s expression flickers ever-so-slightly, and Clint wishes he could tell which barb has got to him, to maybe stop him from moving inexorably closer. When the god moves fully into his space, Clint’s shoulders are pressed flush against the smooth hard wall, and Clint lifts his hands and shoves. Nothing happens. He kicks out, sweeps, hoping to drive Loki’s legs out from under him, eyes flitting over Loki’s shoulder, scanning fruitlessly for a door._

_Loki takes the blow and merely leans in closer. “You are like a bug to me, a squawling infant. Are you done with this tantrum yet?” His hand lands over Clint’s chest, over his heart, the nails digging in._

_The rage Clint wants to scream out won’t come. He channels it instead, gathering the last scraps of his determination to strike out at Loki. He knows even as he moves that it’s a bad shot, and the god catches his wrist before the blow can land, his grip not crushing or punishingly tight, but unbreakable. Clint sucks in a shuddery breath, and it sounds horrifyingly like a sob. All the strength leeches out of him, and he sags, lax against the wall, as far away from Loki as he can._

_“Good boy.”_

_Once more Clint tries to twist away, but again, it is futile. The hand Loki has over his ribs is pinning him in place as efficiently as any bindings._

_“Tell me you missed me, Little Bird. Tell me how you crave to be mine once more.”_

_“No.” It’s barely audible, a child’s whimper._

_Loki leans still closer, icy breath caressing his ear. “Tell me and perhaps I will spare your friends.”_

_“I- My friends aren’t here.”_

_Loki draws back enough to smile mysteriously, enigmatic and taunting. “Indeed,” he agrees._

_Clint takes a couple of fast, shallow breaths, trying to force himself to think. “They- No. They’re not here, I don’t believe you, and I_ won’t _!” His voice is tremulous and not as steady as he’d like, but he has to believe he’s right. Here, wherever they are, Loki holds all the power, and he wants Clint’s submission. He’s terrified, absolutely, but he’s also not going to capitulate. Loki’s been in his head, he must know that. It would make far more sense to play them off against each other if he did truly have them all captured._

_A tiny voice asks him: what he’s going to do if he’s wrong? If Loki does have his friends? If Loki turns him into a tool to use against them again? Again?_

_Once more, the god leans in close, and Clint doesn’t think, he just acts. He surges forward, smashing his forehead into Loki’s hard enough to send fireworks shooting behind his eyes, and then sinks his teeth hard into the white marble neck until his mouth fills with blood. He thinks of Tasha’s awkward, never-to-be-spoken-of crushes on the vampires on TV and almost chokes on blood and laughter._

_Loki wrenches free, leaving a chunk of flesh in between Clint’s teeth. He grins at him, legs still lacking the will to move but his smile red and feral. Loki clamps a hand to the wound and tries on his usual sneer. “I thought I had trained you better than that,” but his voice shakes, unsettled, off-guard._

_Clint spits to clear his mouth and can feel his grin turn manic. “I’m not yours,” he says, roughly._

_The easy amusement falls away to reveal diamond hard fury underneath. “Not_ yet _. I can make you mine, Little Hawk. I can twine myself around your thoughts, make them_ mine _. I can bend your every action to my will._ I can make you want me to _.”_

 _And he can. Clint knows he can. There is nowhere to go, he’s as helpless as a rabbit in front of a serpent. He bites the inside of his lip until the taste of his blood mixes with Loki’s. He won’t plead, not willingly. Not when he’s_ himself _._

_Loki steps up close once more, and puts his bloodied hand on Clint’s face. “You are mine now. My spoils of war, blood-marked to me and bound as mine. I can find you now, wherever you are, however far you may run. I can always find you. I can always summon you to me.”_

_Clint is dizzy with his terror, wide-eyed and still but for the rapid hammering of his heart._

_“But for now… for now, I have better toys. I don’t need your pitiful abilities.”_

_Clint can only look at him, the words barely making sense, his ears filled with nothing but buzzing. He keeps his gaze on Loki, couldn’t move his eyes if his life depended on it, and suddenly, with no warning or magic words or helpful flash of light, Loki is growing. Within seconds he’s towering over Clint, a sneering giant, and Clint looks up and up and then his legs give out bonelessly underneath him and he slumps over on his side, seeing nothing but the endless whiteness and the dark of Loki’s boots. He can’t move his head._

_Which is when he realises he was wrong. Loki wasn’t growing at all._

_A hand wraps around his middle, and he’s lifted. He glares at Loki with all his defiance and rage, but his face stays rigid, cold. Loki runs a thumb over him, over his hair and down his back, slowly stroking every scar, every mark, every inch of him. His skin creeps, but there’s nothing he can do but endure it. He can’t even close his lids against the glee on Loki’s face._

_“Let us find your friends, Little Hawk,” he says softly. He waves his hand, like a magician distracting his audience and, as though a curtain has been pulled back, Steve and Tony are both curled, unconscious, on the featureless white floor._

_Clint feels his heart stop in his chest and he hopes his internal organs are as frozen as the rest of him because if he throws up and he can’t open his mouth this is going to get really unpleasant really quickly. He was_ wrong _; he was wrong and they’re here and he can do nothing to help, rendered useless once again._

 _The long fingers tighten around his mid-section. He can tell from the pressure that the grip_ should _hurt. He can see nothing but Steve and Tony, because that’s the way Loki has turned him._

_“Let’s have some fun,” Loki says softly and Clint screams silently as they move forward together._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint was still aware throughout Maladjusted Heroes and Mistaken Geniuses and honestly, the experience was one of the most traumatic things he’s ever been expected to endure. That doesn’t mean he’s going to talk about it. Companion piece to part four of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-15  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Clint, mindfuckery, swearing, manipulation, psychological torture, themes of subjugation and non sexual violation, main character death and suicide. I don’t wish to spoiler anything, I should probably note that those with serious triggers involving suicidal thoughts and mindcontrol may want to be careful. Also, although the relationship here between Loki and Clint is entirely unsexual, this is non-con in every way but that and draws on a lot of the themes and images from stories using rape as a central element.   
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen (background), pre-slash, protective!Clint  
> Beta: Melpemone   
> A/N: Sorry this has been so long guys. Work has been completely insane. Hopefully it should calm down in the next few weeks so a regular posting schedule can resume. Don't worry though, this series has not been abandoned, nor will it be, and I have just started writing part 7.

** Part 4 Bonus Feature **

 

 **Agent:** Specialist Clinton Francis Barton **Code Name:** Hawkeye **Serial Number:** 30049670 **Handler:** Senior Agent Philip Coulson

 **Current Deployment:** Avengers Initiative, New York City

 **Attending Psychiatrist:** Doctor Mandy Anderson

 **Reason(s) for Session:** Capture in hostile territory, psychological torture, exposure to magic and other non-scientifically verifiable consciousness altering agents (see medical form P1371).

 **Asset Status:** Inactive

 **Session Number:** 2

“I don’t remember anything.”

He’s the first to break the long silence, and he only does _that_ because Phil said he had to. He said he had to go to this damn session and he had to talk during it. Clint doesn’t see why. It wasn’t like he had anything to add, but Phil – bastard – had played every one of his weaknesses: they’ll take you off the Avengers, give them a reason to think something is wrong and you’ll find yourself back in mandatory sessions discussing the Chitauri debacle and your part in it, Natasha’s worried about you, the team needs you cleared for duty, they’re vulnerable without your eyes and, most devastatingly, I’m _asking_ you to go Clint, don’t you trust my judgement?

Doctor Anderson doesn’t start at the sudden noise, but her face sharpens, interest obvious. “So you’ve told me.”

He sighs, heel drumming against the leg of his chair. “Then why can’t you all just let it _go_?”

She caps her pen and leans forward. “No one is accusing you of anything, Agent Barton.”

Clint’s face twists ironically. “But?”

“But there’s no medical reason for you to have amnesia, and you’ve never shown a tendency towards repressing trauma. You have astonishingly clear and apparently accurate memories of even traumatic events in your early childhood. If this event was so distressing that you simply do not _wish_ to talk about it, I am here to help you understand that this is a safe place and you can speak freely here. If, on the other hand, Loki did something to you and this is an artificial block, well…” she spreads her hands. “We need to have at least some idea of how widespread that block is, and what else may be affected in your mind, and preferably why Loki would do such a thing.”

“Steve and Tony,” Clint starts, looking at the bridge of her nose so he doesn’t have to meet her eyes, “said I was a… puppet. Maybe I was just… maybe when Loki changed me, I just stopped… real puppets can’t see or hear or whatever, can they? Maybe that’s why I have no memories.”

“Maybe. Again, Agent Barton, I am not here to accuse you of anything. This is merely a precaution. But, bearing in mind that Loki’s aim was to throw you all into a world of your nightmares, it seems extraordinarily pointless to cause you to forget it when you woke up. And, you must admit, turning you into a puppet is somewhat… symbolic. Does that thought haunt you, Agent? That you were his puppet when he orchestrated the attack on the helicarrier?”

“ _No_!” Clint flings himself backwards, toppling the chair and suddenly finds himself standing, pressed against the back wall, hands clenching and unclenching, teeth bared in a feral snarl. He doesn’t want to talk about that, doesn’t want to be forced to explain – again – that he _hadn’t_ been Loki’s puppet for that attack, that it had all been _him._ And he certainly doesn’t want to explain that he had spent the last months wishing he had been, believing that it would have been _better_ , and that Loki had efficiently proved him wrong.

Doctor Anderson deliberately relaxes, making it obvious that she is no threat to him. “I’m sorry, Agent. I didn’t mean to… you are under no obligation to talk about your earlier experiences.”

“I’m under no obligation to talk _at all_ ,” Clint snarls, embarrassed to have given himself away so completely.

“No,” she agrees. “But if this is simply a case of being a quirk of biology in that you do not remember your dreams, you must give me _something_ to work with. Something I can put in my report.”

Clint is silent for a while, weighing his options. “I remember my trial on the helicarrier,” he eventually says warily, picking his way across the room and righting his chair before dropping into it. “I was defending my actions to the Council. Sitwell said he wanted to punch Tony.” Clint gives the faded ghost of a smile at the memory. “I punched my way nearly through Coulson’s briefcase. Then the lights went out and I was watching Tony over at the console trying to fix Hammer’s shit and then _nothing._ I swear. I _swear_ I’m not making it up.” He can hear the desperation bleeding across his tone and he clamps his lips shut.

She just regards him. The steady, non-condemning gaze that Phil is so adept at. The look that had got him in here in the first place. The look that says he’s full of bullshit and they know it, but that they understand and they’ll wait for him to be ready to act like an adult.

Deliberately, Clint turns his head and stares out of the window.

*

_It was obvious that Tony and Steve were seeing something other than the room they were trapped in. But for Clint, it was nothing but odd to see them walk around the perimeter of the room, discussing the landscape and possibilities for escape like children playing an imaginary game. Under different circumstances it might even have been comical. In most circumstances, Clint is usually capable of bleak humour, but the inability to move his own body, even to offer his opinion on the blank nothing he could see, sapped any amusement he might have found in the situation._

_His friends hold him carefully, never forgetting that it’s him in there, but the way they manhandle him, settling his little wooden body on their hip like he’s an infant, does nothing but underscore his helplessness. For the first hour he spits fury inside his own head - they would hate to be treated this way, the pair of them. After that, he is just numb._

_Except that’s not true. Numb is what he aspires to. He can’t turn his own head, can’t keep his own look out, can’t watch their backs – and that fact would make him grit his teeth if he could, makes the back of his neck prickle and crawl and his stomach feel leaden and heavy – but every now and again, when he is turned far enough, he catches a glimpse of Loki, watching, ever-present._

_Loki’s standing on the far side of the room, and he is obviously finding the funny side that Clint can’t see, and his smile is cruel and twisted. He’s taking a malicious delight in holding them here, trapped, unaware of just how small their prison really is. It’s equally obvious that Clint’s the only one who can see him – and isn’t that just perfect? Knowing that Loki’s there, watching them, glorying in their fear, and unable to make the smallest attempt to warn them._

_It’s like being slowly, methodically, shredded from the inside out, and he hates the god for forcing him to live this yet again._

_“Steve?” Tony says sometime later, voice more tremulous than Clint usually hears it. Tony has turned to face Steve, putting Loki directly into Clint’s line of sight. Clint glares at him, hoping Loki can read the vicious fury and the promise of murder in his immovable features._

_“Steve, we_ are _going in a straight line, right? We have nothing to aim at, no points of reference, no compass. How do we know we’re not just going in circles?”_

 _It wasn’t a question that it had occurred to Clint to wonder. Not when he knew that they_ were _going in circles, but that there was no place else to go. He knew beyond doubt that the others couldn’t perceive the tiny room that they are imprisoned in. Loki glides nearer, standing so close to Tony that Clint’s surprised they can’t_ feel _his presence. He wants to push him back, wants to shout out a warning, wants to be able to fucking_ tense _in readiness. Clint dangles limply in Tony’s grasp, eyes fixed now on Loki’s elbow instead of his face and unable to rectify it. He sees – feels – the god lean closer to Tony and he struggles, as hard as he can, in his own mind against a body that isn’t his and won’t co-operate. It doesn’t work, and Loki doesn’t even turn to look at him as his smile widens ever more viciously._

_“They’re clever aren’t they, your little friends?”_

_Unable to respond, Clint struggles desperately again. He would give a finger to be able to say something, anything that would make Loki focus on him, him who at least knew how close the danger was._

_“I don’t know. But I have faith Loki won’t just let us die. Not without turning up to gloat.”_

_For the first time Loki turns his gaze on Clint, green eyes glinting. “Shall I prove him wrong, Little Bird? Shall I let them wander in their own wastelands until they die, or shall I go to them when they are desperate and see your great Captain America on his knees for my mercy?”_

_Clint can’t answer, can’t spit the defiance that hovers on the tip of his tongue, trapped in his painted mouth, and he knows Loki can see the desperation in his eyes that bravado would have masked. He’s more than ready to go to his own knees if it would get them out of here. If he had just capitulated when Loki had asked they even wouldn’t be here…_

_He watches Loki read all that in his face and then laugh softly before turning away, sauntering back to the corner he’s been standing in to watch them from. Clint heaves a sigh of internal relief, barely hearing the bantering exchange over the rushing in his non-existent ears. Tony turns away once more to continue the walk that they’ve set themselves._

_They walk, and walk. Clint thinks he might be giving himself brain strain with the effort to spontaneously develop telepathy. He’s always thought telepaths were more than a little creepy, and that was before Loki made himself at home in his head, but now, just this once, it would be so very useful._

_He can see Steve better than he can see Tony at the angle Tony is carrying him, and it’s obvious that the super soldier is struggling with the cold. His skin is an unhealthy colour and the shivers that wrack him are getting more and more infrequent. More worrying still is the pained expression on his face and his glazed eyes - it’s obvious he’s trapped in memories that he’d really rather not be. He knows Tony and Steve aren’t close, and knows that’s largely his fault. Because of that, he knows Steve won’t mention that he’s having difficulties and though he knows now – too late – that Tony would do anything for them, he’s not sure Tony will know Steve well enough to_ tell _that he’s having difficulties. And Tony’s survival experience is largely desert-based, what if he doesn’t know how to detect oncoming hypothermia? It’s not something genius billionaires need to know after all._

 _“Come on, let’s have a rest and try and get you warmed up.” Tony says, and, if he could, Clint would sag with relief. As it is, he’s glad for the first time that he doesn’t have to fight down a chuckle when Tony’s suggestion as to how they go about this with absolutely no supplies is, “Body heat.”_ _Of course it is._

_Awkwardly, Tony coaxes Steve to strip down and then wraps him into a tight embrace, still holding Clint. He can’t see Loki at this angle, and once again he’s glad for that. He doesn’t think he could bear what he might be able to read on his face and this is uncomfortable enough. He likes both Tony and Steve, he does, but he never really pictured being this close to either of them. His wooden skin isn’t really sensitive enough to pick up the extremes of temperature he knows must be radiating from them, but he’s still a SHIELD agent, trained for covert ops. He can read the tension in Tony’s hand, still around his middle – discomfort at the situation, unease at whatever he’s getting from Steve – and the uncertainty, but helpless relief in Steve’s._

_They talk quietly, heads together, and, whether benevolence or just toying with them some more, Loki allows the magic they perceive to work for them. Steve, evidently, begins to grow less cold._

_They break apart, and now the awkwardness has increased tenfold. Tony turns Clint dizzyingly in his hands, apparently just for something to do. Pin-wheeling helplessly – dammit Stark! – Clint catches Loki’s eyes once again. If he could start with surprise he would have - the god is once again close enough for him to reach out and touch. “See, Little One, I am a merciful god, deserving of your worship, am I not?”_

_Forgetting himself, and his limitations, Clint attempts to spit in the god’s eye. It’s a weird sensation not to be able to, like choking in the mind. Loki’s smile widens, and Clint has no doubt he knows what Clint has just tried to do._

_“Of course,” he observes blandly, “merciful or not, I am still a god and will not tolerate disrespect. And it is not just you who I will make suffer for your crimes. Isn’t it the way of gods, to make a village suffer for allowing the sins of the few to go unpunished and unregulated?”_

_Clint knows his heart isn’t truly beating, but he feels it stop anyway. He hates himself, feels humiliation rise up within him like a red mist, but he still thinks, “I’m sorry,” and “Please,” as loudly as he can._

_Loki reaches out, drawing a hand down his unresisting arm and resting the fingers for a brief moment on Tony’s unsuspecting wrist. “You are learning, Little One.”_

_Clint doesn’t relax, tuning out the words of the others in a fruitless attempt to keep his eyes on Loki, to see where he may strike next. His attention only snaps back them when Tony says, “Oh, you said- Anyway, I wished for Bruce. Really hard. And nada. Besides, I bet Clint’s been wishing for Natasha since we got here.”_

_He’s not entirely sure of the context, although judging from the tone it’s one of Tony’s more petulant rants about running a world on the physics of wishes (something Clint would be inclined to give more credence to if he were not aware that the world isn’t being run by wishes at all). It still jolts him, almost angers him. He would_ never _wish Natasha into this situation, where her skills would be useless and she as helpless as they are, just another person to leverage against him._

_“I’m hungry,” Steve says after a while, jolting Clint out of his morose thoughts. How could he have forgotten? It’s another thing they need that Loki can withhold at his pleasure. He keeps his mind still, allowing the white fear to flood him in a way he normally wouldn’t, anything to keep his mind from turning to solutions and possibilities that Loki might see._

_The conversation continues, the background hum to Clint’s desperately tumbling thoughts._

_“Maybe there’s… something we can hunt?”_

_“Tony, there isn’t even night-time here, I don’t think Loki gave us game.”_

_“Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine.”_

_And suddenly, with no transition, it changes. The scene before him, Steve and Tony debating their options is frozen, like a movie paused mid-scene. Tony is still gripping the little wooden puppet, but Clint is outside of it all, in his own body at last. Disoriented and stumbling, he takes a deep breath, sucking fresh air into his lungs as though the puppet’s lack of necessity to breathe had left him holding the air in his chest, and flexes his fingers. It’s only when they brush against soft leather that he realises how close to Loki he’s standing._

_He springs away, a snarl on his face, but Loki merely raises an eyebrow at him: Do you_ really _want to anger me? And the aggression slips away, replaced by frustrated passivity, and his clenched hands fall to his side._

_“Do you have something you’d like to ask of me, Little One?”_

_Loki’s voice is saccharine, and Clint’s gut roils at the sound of it. But there is no will left in him to resist, not when it won’t be him that pays for a show of defiance that Loki will only find amusing. “Let Steve have something to eat.” His voice is raw with disuse, and too desperate for him to pretend the sentence is anything other than a plea._

_Loki smiles at him. It’s the warm smile of a tolerant parent watching a young child do something amusing. “Very good, Little One. It seems you can be taught to act as I would wish without need for me to own your heart.”_

_Clint lowers his gaze, too ashamed to hold Loki’s eyes. “So you’ll let them?” he asks, pointlessly pushing for a promise that he knows will mean nothing from the god of Lies._

_Loki’s voice becomes even softer, even sweeter. “It would hardly be fair if I gave you a boon at no cost, would it? Many better men than you have prayed for my favour and been roundly ignored.”_

_Clint moistens his lips and doesn’t look up. His own voice drops to be barely audible, as though even in their frozen state Steve and Tony will hear him. Hell, this whole set up is Loki’s idea of a joke, or revenge, maybe they will. It doesn’t stop him. “I missed you,” he says, the words Loki had demanded of him hours, days, millennia, ago. “I missed being yours. I missed having you to make my decisions, to tell me where to place my arrows. It was simpler, peaceful. It was easy to be yours.”_

_He can’t stop himself from looking up when the step of the demi god’s boot tells him Loki has approached him. “Very good, but not the price I would ask for this boon, My Hawk.”_

_Clint cringes and feels his knees waiver, his instinct, with Loki towering over him, telling him to go down on them. But he resists. Loki may have forced the admission, a statement more truthful than he would have liked, but he is still an Agent of SHIELD, still an Avenger, however unworthy he may be. He won’t kneel merely to placate Loki. He’s better than_ that _at least._

_Loki waits a second, then smiles. “I miss you also.” There is no hint of a lie in his words. “You were a great asset to me, My Hawk. Perhaps my greatest.” He stops, and waits, and still Clint holds his ground, drawing on reserves of strength he didn’t even know he had, drawing on the memory of Natasha’s bright red hair and lightning quickness like a talisman against the encompassing green of Loki’s eyes. The god sighs, and steps back a pace, still close enough to touch, his face taking on a contemplative cast. “So you miss me. But you do not wish to?”_

_“No.” Clint can’t help but answer. “I don’t- I can’t-” He swallows and starts again, forcing himself not to look away this time with the knowledge that Natasha wouldn’t. “It was the easiest anything has ever been. The most peaceful_ I’ve _ever been.” The words grate in his throat, but his voice hardens as he carries on. “But I don’t want it back.”_

_“Because you need your pain. Because it is what makes you who you are.” Loki’s tone is knowing and smug, and Clint wonders from what recesses of his mind Loki drew a quote from the worst of the Star Trek movies._

_“Will you let them eat or not?” Clint demands, forgetting for a crucial moment who Loki will make suffer for his actions, knowing he will go down to his knees at the merest threat. His capitulation, the last of his tattered pride, all he has left to give. It’s a poor bargaining position._

_“Of course, Little One. And I want so very little a price, barely worth considering really.”_

Anything _, Clint thinks, but doesn’t utter it. Even he knows how monumentally stupid that promise would be._

_“I want to remind you of that simple peace you felt with me. Give me one chance to make you want it once more.”_

_“I won’t! I’d never want-”_

_“Then there is no harm in letting me try to convince you.”_

_It sounds like a trap, a latter day Faustian deal. “It would be a waste of your time! Wouldn’t you rather have-”_

_Loki cuts him off with a laugh, cold as the fleeting touch which caresses Clint’s face. “Rather have you kneeling before me, Little Bird? Is that what you were about to offer? I want no such thing. I don’t desire your humiliation, and that is all such a show of subjugation would achieve. I want you to come to me – my perfect, willing soldier once more. I want to be recognised again as your god, Little One. You are so barren inside, your devotion was so sweet.”_

_Clint swallows, eyes casting across the white tiled floor, a flush tinging his cheeks. Devotion. Yes, he had been devoted. Being owned by Loki had been a belonging the likes of which he’d never known before. He closes his eyes, and clings more strongly to the image of Natasha, forcing away images of the team, who will never belong to each other like that because he had ruined everything with his stupid, vicious assumptions about Stark. Maybe this is all he is good for? Being Loki’s toy. Only the knowledge of what Loki might use him to do to them keeps him from agreeing outright. “What would you convincing me entail?”_

_Loki examines his finger nails. “Oh, nothing_ too _distressing, My Hawk. For just ten minutes, you will be mine. You will be mine and you will_ enjoy _it.”_

_Clint feels himself weakening. “Ten minutes.”_

_“Yes. You couldn’t do any real damage in that time, so you don’t have to worry about that. I just want you to remember the feeling.”_

_Clint laughs dryly. “I can take down a squad of Hydra in ten minutes, that’s more than enough time to do real damage.”_

_Loki’s face falls, hurt marring his features. “Truly, Little One, your distrust wounds me.”_

_They watch each other. Clint’s fingers are digging into his palms. He wants to agree, wants to give in to Loki and secure what Steve so desperately needs, but he won’t, he can’t. In ten minutes he’d had the Helicarrier falling from the sky._

_“Since I do only wish to remind you of the joy of being mine, I will bargain further with you. You will be mine for ten minutes, ten minutes of my choosing,_ but _I will let you hold your changed form. Unable to move, or speak, or do anything but feel.”_

_It’s a trap. It has to be a trap. But then… all Loki wanted was devotion, humanity on its knees, maybe he had been feeding on Clint’s ardent loyalty, craving that somehow._

_“Well, My Hawk? My patience is not infinite. What is your answer?”_

_How much harm can he_ really _do as a puppet? He’s good, he knows, but not that good. “You swear you’ll keep your word?”_

_“I swear.”_

_Clint has no reason to trust him, and no option but to do so. He closes his eyes tightly, chest tight. Phil would_ never _do this, and SHIELD will bench him indefinitely if they find out._

_Loki huffs a sigh. “Very well, I cannot make you agree. Perhaps later, when hunger prevents the good Captain from even being able to stand, we will speak again.”_

_“No! Wait!” Clint’s voice is sharp with panic. “I agree. I’ll be yours for ten minutes, no longer. And you’ll let me stay a puppet. I’ll have no autonomy, no way of moving myself to do your bidding, all I have to do is feel how good it feels to be yours, in exchange for food for the others.”_

_The way Loki smiles makes the feeling that he’s the fish who’s swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker, intensify. “Agreed,” says the god, pleasure writ large on his features, and the world starts to move once more._

_He ignores the argument, watching the little he can see of Loki from his position at Tony’s side intently, waiting for him to keep his promise._

_“So, food?” Tony says eventually, a poor attempt to change the subject, but one that has Clint mentally sighing in relief anyway._

_“I could eat you.”_

_“Yeah… Cap? That doesn’t mean what you think it means. So, if you could have anything, what would you like to eat?”_

_“How does talking about it help?”_

_“Because if you don’t, you really will have my decomposing flesh to eat. I’m so bored I’m on the verge of strangling myself.”_

_“At this point… anything would be fine.”_

_“Yeah, but if you could have_ anything _, what are you really craving?”_

_“Patience, Little One,” Loki’s voice drifts into his mind, and Clint would start if he could, hating how easy he is for Loki to read when the bastard is in his mind. “They have to have a reason for the bounty, do they not? Let’s see what foolish interpretation of magic your oh-so-clever friends can come up with.”_

_“The bread my mom used to bake.” Steve’s answer seems disjointed to Clint, who whips his attention away from Loki’s smug voice, anxiety ramping higher as he waits for the axe to fall._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah. I guess it doesn’t sound like much, but it was delicious. And the smell of it used to fill our apartment. I used to help her bake it sometimes, if I wasn’t too sick and didn’t have to be in bed.”_

_Loki doesn’t force him to wait much longer. Clint doesn’t see how he does it, but he does see the charred, golden brown object sail through the air, hitting the back of Tony’s head. The billionaire starts, whirling around, and Loki is once again clearly in Clint’s sights. He’s smirking again, and Clint hopes – prays – there’s nothing wrong with the bread. Loki gives him a faux offended glare. “Of course not, Little Bird,” he soothes. “Your bargain has not been in vain. I care for you too deeply to trick you in such a way.” It makes Clint’s skin creep that he wants to believe the words, and he wrenches his attention back to the others._

_“Loki?” Tony calls out. “Loki, if this is you fucking with us, I swear to god…” Loki steps up to him, but once again neither of the other two react. His unbeating heart feels like its double timing in his little wooden chest as Loki cups Stark’s face, just as the billionaire turns slightly to ask Steve, “Did you do this?”_

_“…Maybe?”_

_“What does that mean?”_

_“This is exactly what I was thinking about. It’s even a little burned on the underside, how it always used to go when I tried. I was thinking about how easy this is to make.”_

_“So you weren’t just imagining bread? You were imagining the specific steps involved in its creation.”_

_Loki takes his hands off Tony’s face with a laugh and Clint feels like he can breathe again. “What a delightful idea. What fanciful notions you humans have about magic.”_

_“I guess.”_

_“Well that’s… actually, that makes a weird kind of sense. Any world where you could have things just for the wishing would be unable to survive, but where yeah, okay, you can wish for it, but you have to fundamentally understand how each component part fits together, that makes… well, not sense but… more sense. Bad sci-fi movie sense.”_

_Clint knows what Tony is planning even as he does so. If this wasn’t a trap, a set up, it would be a brilliant idea. Very few people appreciate just how much of their equipment Tony Stark is intimately – circuit by circuit – familiar with. He knows he can’t keep his mind clear of all thoughts of plans, of possibilities, of faith in his friends, but he allows himself to try, knowing his surety, his faith, his hope will be irresistible bait and trusting that they can win even with his betraying their every move. They did before. He just needs to secure them weaponry, to make them less vulnerable._ Loki _! He rails inside his head._ Loki, talk to me, I’ve got another bargain for you.

_“So you think it’ll be safe to eat?”_

_Two seconds._

_“Did you imagine adding rat poison to it? I’m fine for the moment. You have this one, and, if you die, I’ll know something went wrong.”_

_Six seconds._

_“Wow, thank you.”_

_“Any time.”_

_Ten seconds._

_“But seriously, Tony.”_

_“Seriously? I think you were right before. Loki’s not going to let anything happen to us without turning up to gloat. Any poison or problem with it is going to be slow acting, so we’ll have time to fix it, whereas starving yourself is going to become an immediate problem. Go slow, and if there’s anything wrong, anything at all, stop. But no. I think anyone who has the power to dump us in this place can think of far more inventive things to do than ruin your attempts at psychic baking.”_

_Twenty four seconds._

_“It’s good.”_

_“Shush, I’m concentrating.”_

_“You sure you don’t want any?”_

_“Steve, I’m working.”_

_Thirty six seconds._

_“Fine, fine. On what?”_

_And Clint is once again standing at Loki’s side, the scene before him frozen in tableau. This time he makes himself hold Loki’s gaze. “Let it work. Let Tony’s interpretation of how the magic works work.”_

_Loki gives no hint he knows what is in Clint’s mind. “What is it you think he’s envisioning?”_

_“Weapons. Our weapons.” There is no point in hiding that, and what little of a plan Clint has depends on it._

_Loki throws his head back and laughs. “And you think I will allow him to continue to do so.”_

_“I think this game must be getting tiring for you. They can’t beat you, they can’t even see you, and you have them believing they’re seeing things that aren’t there.”_

_“They’re trapped in worlds made of their most horrific dreams.”_

_Clint rolls his eyes, “Yes. And I can see how that’s slowing them down.”_

_“Be careful, Little Bird. You are testing my patience.”_

_Clint drops his eyes, and the attitude. “Sorry,” he mutters, “but surely I’m right, surely this is boring? Don’t you want to test yourself against them? Properly?”_

_“You think they will win.”_

_“Of course_ I _think they’ll win. But you don’t, and isn’t that what matters?”_

_“And this bargain you spoke of?”_

_Clint swallows. He hadn’t counted on being made to say it - he had thought Loki would have pointed out that he already knew what was in his mind. “I- Let them have whatever weapons Tony can give them, and let them see you. If they win, we go free, if they lose, the game continues. And if you can,” his throat goes dry and he swallows, looks away and continues, “and if you can get them to willingly hand me over to you, I’ll agree to be yours once more.” His breathing is fast and shallow._

_Loki is silent._

_“I’ll beg for it,” Clint promises, secure that the others will never, willingly, give him to Loki._

_Loki stays silent for a moment longer. “Well. Well, My Hawk, a promising game indeed. But is it one you truly want to play? After all you did to the Man of Iron, how do you know he won’t hand you over to me for the asking? Doesn’t he have every right to wish revenge?”_

_Doubt creeps into Clint, insidious and cold. “He won’t.”_

_“Brave words.”_

_“He won’t.”_

_“He will put your helpless form into my hands.”_

_“Steve-”_

_Loki laughs again, cruel and high. “Yes, that would be the greater betrayal wouldn’t it? The Man of Iron, wounded by you as he is, from him you would understand such an action. But the Captain, blond and proud and so very_ very _honourable, you believe he would never do such a thing, would protect you even from the other.”_

_Clint gives a single, ashamed nod. He shouldn’t think it of Tony. He shouldn’t. But he does. He would deserve it._

_“Very well, Little Bird, I will raise the stakes further. We will see how far your loyalty and your faith will take you. They shall have the weaponry you ask for and the terms of winning or losing shall be as you decree, but when your Captain puts your body into my hands and thanks for me for taking you, you will submit to being mine and the first person I shall set you on is your treacherous wench.”_

_Steve wouldn’t, Clint reminds himself. Steve would die before he betrayed one of them in such a manner. Loki might be able to see his every thought, but he doesn’t_ know _them like Clint does. He doesn’t_ understand _. He sucks in a lungful of air and still feels like he’s suffocating._

_“Agreed,” he says on the exhale, and the Iron Man suit clanks as it hits the hard floor._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint was still aware throughout Maladjusted Heroes and Mistaken Geniuses and honestly, the experience was one of the most traumatic things he’s ever been expected to endure. That doesn’t mean he’s going to talk about it. Companion piece to part four of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-15  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Clint, mindfuckery, swearing, manipulation, psychological torture, themes of subjugation and non sexual violation, main character death and suicide. I don’t wish to spoiler anything, I should probably note that those with serious triggers involving suicidal thoughts and mindcontrol may want to be careful. Also, although the relationship here between Loki and Clint is entirely unsexual, this is non-con in every way but that and draws on a lot of the themes and images from stories using rape as a central element.   
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen (background), pre-slash, protective!Clint  
> Beta: This chapter is unbetad. All mistakes are entirely my own.  
> A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys. My life has been very busy, as has my betas. We are doing our best to get these chapters out in a timely way.

**Part 4 Bonus Feature**

 

**Agent:** Specialist Clinton Francis Barton **Code Name:** Hawkeye **Serial Number:** 30049670 **Handler:** Senior Agent Philip Coulson

**Current Deployment:** Avengers Initiative, New York City

**Attending Psychiatrist:** Doctor Mandy Anderson

**Reason(s) for Session:** Capture in hostile territory, psychological torture, exposure to magic and other non-scientifically verifiable consciousness altering agents (see medical form P1371).

**Asset Status:** Inactive

**Session Number:** 3

She won’t drop it. Clint feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin and he doesn’t know how many more ways he can say he doesn’t remember anything. He knows they don’t – _can’t_ – know differently. He knows this interrogation technique, the asking the same questions, round after round, and just waiting for him to slip up.

He’s fairly sure he hasn’t though. He’s not a consummate liar the way Nat is, the way she’s sometimes not sure where she ends and the cover persona begins. The way he has to call her Tasha just to differentiate from who she is at work because she, sometimes, can’t do that alone. And he’s not Phil, blankly unreadable except when he truly wishes to be, and even then putting across only what he wants. He’s still a SHIELD trained though, whatever Loki might have been able to make him do. He hasn’t given anything away.

“I really don’t remember,” he says again, in response to another question. He keeps his eyes on the floor, idly tapping a beat on his leg with the fingers of one hand. He’s trying humility today, anger and frustration make them think he’s hiding something.

Doctor Anderson sighs through her nose. “All right,” she says, agreeable tone not matching her body language at all. “I understand that you have no actual memories of your time in Loki’s construct world, but many people who have repressed traumas maintain some impressions.”

Clint doesn’t look up, doesn’t want her to see the tension he knows is in his face.

“Let’s play a word association game. I’ll say a word, and you give me the first emotion you associate with it.”

Clint considers standing up, putting the chair through the window and leaving, but that will achieve nothing but make them believe he’s hiding something again. And honestly, he’d sit through worse to avoid another evening of Natasha trying to comfort him. She’s truly awful at sympathy. Besides, he wants his bow back.

Doctor Anderson runs through a few standard words first, SHIELD, Natasha, Ice Cream, Team.

He keeps his sarcasm firmly in check, he gives her the responses he knows she wants. He’s drifting slightly, trying to send himself far away where he doesn’t have to deal with the constant probing, the undertones of pity, the itchy, crawling sensation that they think he’s still compromised. The bleak pit in his stomach that wonders if they’re right.

They never get onto what they want until at least word twenty anyway. He has time to compose himself.

“Loki,” Doctor Anderson says, not looking up from her pad, not giving rise to the eager expression that must be on her face as she asks the question she most wants an answer to. She’s on word number seven.

_Shame._ He can’t say that, too telling. He hesitates just a beat too long, “Hatred.”

Doctor Anderson sighs again and puts the pen down, scrutinising him. For a second he wonders if she’ll call him on it, but she doesn’t, despite the fact that that was such an obvious lie the greenest of the junior agents would be able to tell. “Okay, Agent Barton. I think we’re done for today.”

*

_The argument had tied his stomach in knots. Steve and Tony at each other’s throats reminds him too much of mistakes already made. It can’t possibly be a good omen and he can’t watch their back, he needs them to watch each other’s, not wrap themselves in petty disagreements. It doesn’t help the twisted sensation of nerves and anger and guilt, that he is actually grateful that Steve is carrying him now, the bargain he made with Loki rubbing at his mind like a pebble in his boot. Since Steve is the one who has to hand him over, he would theoretically be safer with Tony, but he can’t make himself believe that, can’t feel it, no matter how much of an insult it might be to the billionaire._

_It should be humiliating to feel as safe and warm and protected as he does, resting in Steve’s hands, sheltered by the solid bulk of his muscle. But, Clint finds, resignedly, that it isn’t. He isn’t stupid, he knows he needs the protection. Even if he weren’t a helpless_ object _to be carted around, he doubts he’d be able to push them away. He’s too afraid of Loki._ That _thought_ is _humiliating, all the more so for the knowledge that Loki can see it._

_He can’t contribute to anything the others are doing, and worrying about them is making him edgy, a feeling made worse by his total inability to do_ anything _to relieve it. He can’t even plan and strategize, not that that would do any good long term because he can’t tell them any plans he has, because Loki will know what he’s thinking. He forces his thoughts away from the wrist strap of the thing Tony gave Steve, pressing against his shoulders, and, even when Steve turns him the right way, doesn’t look at the gauntlets Tony is wearing._

_Instead, he frets about the others. Loki shouldn’t be able to hurt Thor or Bruce, so where are they? It was possible Loki simply hadn’t captured them, it had only been the three of them in the corner, but if so, then why aren’t they here? Where’s the rescue party? He doesn’t have a good answer. Even if Loki had magicked them away somewhere, shouldn’t Thor have been able to follow?_

_They are totally alone and he has just bet their skills against the chance of doubling their enemy. Even Loki has disappeared from his usual corner, something which makes Clint feel almost painfully uneasy. It should be a relief, to no longer be under scrutiny from a hostile he can’t even watch, but it isn’t. At least when he knew where Loki was it felt like he was doing_ something _, however little._

_He’s brought back to himself abruptly as he’s crushed tight to Steve’s armour as the other man drops to the ground. If his heart could stop, it would have and, forgetting himself, he tries to twist frantically, fighting to see what’s wrong. He can’t of course, and he freezes, feeling as though his insides are ice when Steve says, in a strained, incredulous near-whisper, “_ Bucky _!”_

_He stills completely, mind as well as body. It can’t be Barnes. It can’t be. There’s no_ point _to a Barnes Steve can rescue. He wishes he could see Tony, try and get a read on Steve from the emotions that all too obviously paint themselves across Tony’s face when he thinks himself unobserved. He can’t see anything but blue leather._

_Steve is still talking in a reassuring tone, inching himself across the ground towards_ something _._

_It can’t be Barnes. That makes no sense._

_He’s let go of abruptly Clint abruptly and he falls, face down against the white tiles. Steve’s never so careless with him. He strains for what sensitivity he can manage, trying to glean information. Steve moves and shifts like he he’s pulling a heavy weight. Virtually blind from his position, Clint seethes._

_There’s a sound he can’t identify, then a voice that he can. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”_

_It isn’t Barnes. Clint would know that voice anywhere._

_Despite the words, despite the use of another man’s cadence, it’s Loki. The feeling that he’s crawling out of his skin intensifies. Loki masquerading as Barnes cannot end well for any of them. Shamefully, he finds himself hoping they’ll forget him here on the ground and just leave him here. Then he instantly regrets the thought, he might be useless, more than useless like this, but he’ll do what little he can to safeguard them. Still, it takes a while for Steve to remember him, to lift him up gently with an apologetic look that would make him hiss with indignation at any normal time. He hates being so dependant._

_The way Steve’s holding him, attention almost completely on Loki-Barnes, Clint can see nothing but Stark’s face. It makes a new wave of the familiar guilt settle hot and rolling in his stomach. Tony thinks Steve will replace him, it’s clear in his eyes. He hurts for him, he remembers being truly vicious – the kind of vicious that meant taking his life in his hands with every sarcastic remark uttered – to Natasha when Phil had taken her on too, afraid that the only person who’d ever thought he was worth more than his aim would replace him with the preternaturally beautiful spy. It’s irrelevant anyway. Clint wants to scream out a hysterical, mad laugh. As though Tony’s insecurities and the reason he has them is the problem. Steve’s feet from Loki, confiding his plans to him, trusting him without question because he sees a different face._

_It was bad to be Loki’s unwitting helpless tool. It is almost worse to see Steve Rogers become so; become so while his hand rests against Clint’s body and Clint can do nothing to prevent it. He’s still the leader Clint knows, asking Loki-Barnes questions about what he makes of the terrain, gathering information, and holding the physical lead, but he can barely take his eyes from him, fascinated and eager like a puppy knowing his owner has a ball somewhere around his person. Clint’s stomach rolls again._

_Loki for his part is far more interested in Clint, holding his eyes with a smug, victorious expression every time his hand rests on Steve’s shoulder, every time the super soldier laughs at one of his lame jokes. Clint’s all but forgotten Tony, too busy trying not to let his mind freeze with terror every time Loki-Barnes draws close to Steve. He wishes he could kick Steve. Can’t the other man see that Loki is drawing on his memories to recreate his best friend? Basing his responses on what Steve knows Barnes would say?_

_If it wasn’t impossible, he would start when Tony speaks. “You want help with the ravine, Steve?”_

_“It’s uh, it’s not there anymore.”_

_Clint angles his gaze down as much as he can from where he is being securely held. That’s not right, an impassable ravine, more terrifying to Steve than the other man would admit, is exactly Loki’s style. Why would he remove it?_

_“Right,” says Tony, answering Clint’s question with the obvious dejection in his tone. Driving a wedge between Tony and Steve, a wedge that will be all too easy to drive because of their past is much more the god’s style, and much less pedestrian than a ravine. An imaginary ravine._

_“What do you mean, help him over it. I’ve seen Steve jump…really long ways.”_

_Rogers blushes, but admits steadily. “I’m not awesome with big drops like that since watching you…you know.” Clint wants to kick him again at the verbal admission of weakness._

_Loki spares an unseen smirk for Clint before widening Barnes’ eyes. “You saw me go over and then this Loki guy snatched me and dropped me here, but you…you thought I died?”_

_Steve can only nod and Loki-Barnes steps up close to him, a hand on his shoulder and his body close, too close. Clint fights down the choking panic which will not help. That close, Steve totally unwitting, Loki could do anything. Clint meets Loki’s gaze when it lands on him, and tries channelling Phil to project a calmness he doesn’t feel._

_“You know it wasn’t your fault right, Steve?” Loki says in Barnes’ comforting tones._

_“Yeah. Yeah I guess. You made the choice, right?”_

_“Damn right I made the choice. I made the choice to go with you and not let you get into stupid fights. You did everything you could. Besides, I’m here now.”_

_“You’re right.”_

_Loki meets Clint’s eyes once more, vicious pleasure dancing in them, and turns away. “So how were you going to help him anyway?”_

_The desperate puppy look pastes itself back onto Steve’s face and he explains quickly. “Tony can’t – couldn’t – see the ravine at all. And one thing we learned about this place is that I can share the things I perceive, as long as Tony truly believes me when I tell him it’s there. I’m standing in snow right now, so we have plenty of water for example.”_

_“That would have been really useful information to have earlier, Rogers, I’m parched.”_

_“Oh…sorry.”_

_Steve adjusts Clint in his hands then scoops down, to Clint’s perspective, miming picking something up._

_“Hey, me first,” Tony demands. “I’m the one standing in a desert. Besides, I don’t want Barnes’ cooties.”_

_Steve shoots Tony an irritated expression, but Loki-Barnes laughs and gives a smirk. It’s the most honest expression Clint’s ever seen on that face. “I’m cootie free, Stark. But you want to be careful of Steve. He’s had every disease possible, some of which I’m pretty sure were invented just for him.”_

_“I got better. Anyway, Tony you had some and-”_

_Loki-Barnes’ eyes are sparkling with a pleasure so malicious he’s amazed the others can’t see it. “Nah. It’s cool where I am. If he’s in a desert, I can wait my turn.”_

_Tony smirks back, and bends back down to Steve’s cupped hands, drinking slowly and with evident enjoyment._

_“That’s actually really strange.” Unobserved, Loki gives Clint another gleaming look and Clint grits his mental teeth against crying out, against offering to bargain again. He has nothing left to trade but minutes as Loki’s, and that’s just not an option, but he’s painfully aware that this trick only works because Loki allows it to, and that he can turn whatever Tony sees in Steve’s hands into anything he wants. “To me it looks like you’re holding mud.”_

_Instantly, Tony gives a hacking, choking cough, backing away from Steve and scrubbing a hand across his mouth. Loki’s expression is contrite, and Steve, as gentle with Barnes’ mistakes as he always is with Clint’s, says, “You can’t say things like that, Bucky. The whole thing is magic and based on belief. Tony has to believe it’s snow. You can’t just tell him it’s mud.”_

_Loki doesn’t bother to mask his smile as he says, “Right. Sorry, Stark.”_

_Clint tries once again to calm himself, hating the relief and fucking gratitude that’s nearly overwhelming him at the fact that Loki only chose to play a reasonably harmless prank and not do anything really damaging._

_He’s still smirking as he drops his own head to Steve’s hands, drinking his fill, or only pretending, but when he stands again, there’s a leashed anger in his gaze that wasn’t there before._ I thought the Man of Iron would retaliate _, he hisses inside Clint’s mind. Clint shies away even from the thought of that. If Tony had retaliated, mentioning sand and filling Loki’s mouth with it deliberately, Steve would have been furious and they would have been back where they were when they first moved into the tower: Steve furious with Stark and preferring another’s company._

_He doesn’t have time to dwell on it long._ He will prefer me, or at least this form to the Metal Man _, Loki sneers,_ and then, he will give me anything I ask for _._

_Despite Clint’s misgivings, it proves more difficult than he, and therefore Loki, anticipated to bring Steve down to the levels Clint dragged him to when they first moved in, and it is with an edge of fury that Loki eventually gives Clint a peaceful smile that makes him blanch inwardly and thinks, “_ It matters little _,” before waving one hand idly._

_Almost instantly Steve draws to a halt, eyes on something he can evidently see in the distance._

_It’s Tony who speaks. “Uh…can you see that?”_

_“What is it?” Loki-Barnes asks, eyes and attention on Clint instead of whatever has the other two so riveted._

_“Looks like a soap bubble,” Steve answers, laughing self-deprecatingly when Tony gives him a mocking expression which wouldn’t look out of place on Loki’s face._

_“Really?” the engineer starts. “A_ soap bubble _! Cap! It’s a wall. It’s the end of all of this, that’s why we can all see it, all of our worlds end here.”_

_“So now what?”_

_“Well, we need to get nearer to it.”_

_“Okay, but Tony? Don’t touch it, at least not until we’ve tested it to see if it’s safe.”_

_“Fine, fine, but come on. I want to get home. I want a shower.”_

_They move forward again, but are brought up short after only one turn around the room, a distance Clint guesses to be about six hundred metres in their construct._

_“These definitely weren’t here before,” Tony mutters. “Dunes. No way I can climb them, the sand’s shifting too much. Can you just walk me through it?”_

_“No, my way’s blocked too.”_

_“What are you talking about, there’s nothing here.”_

_The other two both spin to Loki. “What?”_

_“There’s nothing here, it’s just straight road.”_

_“Okay, Buck, you need to take my hands and walk me through it. Just like I did with the water. You need to make me believe it.”_

_Loki takes a sadistic delight in walking Steve into whatever he sees over and over again, using Barnes’ voice to insist on “One more try,” twice before conceding defeat. “Sorry, Steve, I’m sorry. I barely believe it myself, you know?”_

_There’s a pause. “Look, I’ll go,” Loki offers, Barnes’ eyes clear and guileless. “It’s clear for me. I’ll go and I’ll go through the bubble and I’ll bring help back, okay.”_

_“No, it’s too dangerous.”_

_“Well, we can’t just stay here forever!”_

_“I- I don’t want to lose you again.”_

_Clint swallows at the raw emotion in Steve’s voice, hating watching his Captain give up his stoicism to an enemy, an enemy who wants to see him hurt and obliterated and is taking his own sweet time about it._

_“Steve, you won’t lose me. I promise. I won’t be long, I can almost touch it from here, it’s only a few metres. I’ll go and I’ll bring help.”_

_“I- All right.”_

_Loki steps away from them, and Clint allows himself a second, just a second, of hope that Loki is bored with this game, that he’s going to go back to observing, that’s he’s going to stop standing so nerve-janglingly close. “Hey Steve,” he calls back, teasing gaze resting once more on Clint. “Let me take Clint. He might need medical attention.”_

_Clint feels himself stop, shock and terror like a hot pulse working through him._

_He doesn’t hear Tony’s words, the fear too intense for that._

_“Sure, but he isn’t usually. And you guys have that friend, Thor right? Maybe they can fix him that side of the wall. You aren’t seriously telling me that you think letting Steve drag him about by his little puppet arm is helping?”_

_“Bucky-” Steve starts, shifting Clint in his hands and Clint wishes he could cling to him like a toddler refusing to leave his mom. He’d live with Stark’s mocking, and gladly._

_“C’mon, Cap, I don’t like thinking of him…trapped like that. Let me help him.”_

_There is no tone of a lie in his voice, and why should there be? In his madness Loki really thinks of owning him as helping._

_His stomach swoops as Steve lift him up, holding him out to Loki. Clint struggles harder than he has before. It hurts like fire, beating his soul against the bars in his mind, and it makes no difference. He can’t so much as twitch an eyelash. He screams, desperate, and this time, gaze holding Steve’s, Loki doesn’t so much as look at him but Clint can feel his wicked amusement, nudging at the edges of his frantic consciousness like a tide. It does nothing but spur him to greater panic and suddenly, like an avenging angel, Tony is between them. “No.”_

_“What do you mean, Tony? Get out of the way!” snaps Steve. Clint sags in his mind, grateful for the respite, and only the rigidity of the wooden body Loki has given him keeping him straight. He’d be cringing in Tony’s shadow otherwise._

_“No, Steve! No, you can’t just give Clint over to someone he doesn’t know when he’s like that!” Tony grabs for him, but Steve pulls him away from the questing hand. Clint lets out a low note of despair, and this time Loki does look at him, expression delighted._

_He makes another noise of panic and unease when Tony pulls himself away from Steve and rounds on Loki. He can’t hope to do anything against Asgardian bulk and Loki’s magic, but his shove takes Loki off guard and tumbles him to the floor. “What the hell, Stark?” Loki demands, fury unfeigned, though he holds his cover, and Clint dreads to think how they will be punished for that slight. “I know this is a beach to you, but I just landed on a brick!”_

_Tony ignores him, turning to plead with Steve again. “You can’t, Steve. Don’t. Don’t give Clint to him.”_

_“I’m going to help your friend, Stark. I swear.”_

_“Steve!” he implores again._

_“It’s just Bucky, Tony. He won’t hurt him. I know you don’t know him, but I’d trust him with my life.”_

_It’s Clint who catches Loki’s eye this time, imploring on his own behalf. The god returns his gaze, unmoved._

_“Steve, you’re not stupid. Listen to me please. You must see that there’s something wrong with this, something wrong with him being magically here and the only one who can get to the wall. You have to listen to me.”_

_“Okay, Tony.” Steve says, and the dizzying relief is enough to make Clint feel ill. “All right. Clint can stay with us, while Bucky brings help.”_

_When he releases Clint’s figure to Tony, Tony brings him to his chest in what can be considered no other way than a hug. Clint doesn’t mind. If he could he’d be clinging back._

_“Bucky-” Steve begins placatingly._

_It’s a few seconds before Tony lowers Clint enough that he can see, but when he does he sees Loki, shedding Barnes’ image like a snake shedding skin. He’s near crackling with fury, and Clint, who had always known Loki was there and isn’t hypnotised by surprise feels the compelling urge to run. The others don’t share it and they stand boldly in front of Loki as he resumes his normal dress._

_“So, Man of Iron. Not as stupid as you appear then.”_

_The grip Tony has on him would be bruisingly painful under other circumstances. “Loki, what an unpleasant surprise. Tell me, is there any actual point to your magical little wonderland?” Tony asks._

_“I thought you would have guessed. This is your nightmare is it not?”_

_“Yeah. Sand and sun. I just hate it, that’s why I spent fifteen years in Malibu.”_

_Clint can feel the anger rolling off him like clouds of chilling mist, but he hides it under a bright amused smile, as though he’s looking at the bumbling antics of a favoured pet. The punch Steve gets in does nothing, but Clint cheers inwardly anyway, wishing he could check on him, or at least move his own head when Loki sends him falling back out of his sightline. “And you, soldier? Did you like the ice and cold, or was it not enough for you either?”_

_Tony steps forward, ignoring, as always, the question not meant for him and powering up the gauntlet wired into his chest. “I thought we were talking about my nightmare. Don’t start bantering with other people, I’ll get jealous.”_

_Loki blinks away as Tony fires, reappearing behind them and sneering. “If the desert isn’t your nightmare then, we’ll try sand and blood.”_

_The air fills instantly with the unmistakable scent of blood and Clint feels fine tremors running through Tony’s body._

_“That’s what that cave smelt like isn’t it, Man of Iron?” Loki continues, voice creeping into the cracks in Clint’s brain, insidious. “Sand and heat and blood as you fought your way out, as…_ he _gave his life for you.”_

_The taunt doesn’t quite strike the target, Tony having, whether intentionally or by reflex having shut his mind down completely to nothing but the fear Clint can all but smell on him and preventing Loki from naming exactly who had given his life in a desert that smelt like blood. It occurs to Clint that he should probably update SHIELD’s file with that information, assuming they get out of this. He already knows that he won’t. Tony fires again, but the tremors are so bad now, the shot never even gets close. The act of defiance displeases Loki anyway, and with a too-fast-for-human-eye movement, he’s ripping the gauntlets away from Tony with a hiss._

_Steve charges them. Crashing into Loki, shoulder first, like a quarterback and taking them both to the ground. Loki twists his body like an eel and manages to regain the upper hand, forcing Steve’s face down to the floor. Clint can’t see his face like this, but he can see the desperate kicking legs and hear the muffled choking but his attention is swiftly diverted from Steve when two more Lokis emerge out of the shadows, grabbing Tony and holding him still. Clint can tell they’re not real, nothing more than mindless copies, but they certainly feel real as they grab Tony, dragging him back a pace and one twists an arm brutally up the engineer’s back and when he won’t relinquish the other arm due to the hold he has on Clint clutched safely to his chest, the Loki simply smiles and squeezes tight enough that Clint hears the bone snap. Tony cries out, an agonised noise that’s not even a word, but his fingers do nothing but tighten around Clint’s waist._

_“You can’t beat me here, Captain. This is my world. I_ make _the rules,” says the Loki kneeling on Steve’s back._

_“Leave them alone,” Steve hoarsely._

_“Why?”_

_“Because-_ please _.” Tony stiffens, obviously appalled at hearing Captain America beg, but Clint can see what he has not, that the super soldier is slowly working his arm free from where it’s trapped under his body, angling it to best use the shield._

_Loki shifts, giving Steve all the leverage he needs. “Say that again.”_

_“Please,” Steve says, and flicks his wrist, sending the holographic shield straight into his face. Within seconds the disk is spinning towards the copy on Tony’s left. It hits him squarely and, completely disregarding his arm, Tony twists, freeing himself from the second copy with a savage kick._

_“Do you see-” Tony begins, freezing as Loki, surrounded by a hundred copies surrounds them._

_Hampered by the way he’s moving in Tony’s grip, the motion not dissimilar to trying to come up with battle tactics on a boat pitching in the midst of a storm, Clint can see what they need to do. Take shelter by the wall a few feet from them, preventing any copies coming at their backs, and then take out Loki, stood just back from the centre, in a quick concise attack. “Any ideas, Cap?” Tony asks, unease audible._

_“Sure. You take the twenty on the left, I’ll take the fifty on the right.”_

_“Any ideas that might actually work?”_

_“We only have one weapon, and my strength. I’ll make you a gap. You have to make for the wall, you have to figure out how to get through it, and you have to bring help.”_

_“No offense, Cap, but that’s a horrible plan. And I’m not going to just_ leave _you.”_

_“It’s your only chance.”_

_“And what about you?”_

_“It’s Clint’s only chance,” Steve retorts and Clint would object if he could, hating that he’s being used to manipulate Tony into leaving Steve alone and helplessly outnumbered._

_The pair fight for a moment, two against an army. But it’s clear that they can’t differentiate between Loki and the copies and they’re being overwhelmed until a lucky blow of Steve’s distracts Loki long enough to disperse the copies._

_Still cradled to Tony’s chest with his weak arm, Clint can’t see Steve, but he can hear the fear in his voice as he pushes Tony forward. “Run!” he says, “Come on, Tony,_ move _.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint was still aware throughout Maladjusted Heroes and Mistaken Geniuses and honestly, the experience was one of the most traumatic things he’s ever been expected to endure. That doesn’t mean he’s going to talk about it. Companion piece to part four of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-15  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Clint, mindfuckery, swearing, manipulation, psychological torture, themes of subjugation and non sexual violation, main character death and suicide. I don’t wish to spoiler anything, I should probably note that those with serious triggers involving suicidal thoughts and mindcontrol may want to be careful. Also, although the relationship here between Loki and Clint is entirely unsexual, this is non-con in every way but that and draws on a lot of the themes and images from stories using rape as a central element.   
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen (background), pre-slash, protective!Clint  
> Beta: Unbetad, I take responsibility for all errors.   
> A/N: OK guys, this is the dark one. I haven't been so nervous posting anything in ages. Hope you all like. *crosses fingers*

** Part 4 Bonus Feature **

 

 **Agent:** Specialist Clinton Francis Barton **Code Name:** Hawkeye **Serial Number:** 30049670 **Handler:** Senior Agent Philip Coulson

 **Current Deployment:** Avengers Initiative, New York City

 **Attending Psychiatrist:** Doctor Mandy Anderson

 **Reason(s) for Session:** Capture in hostile territory, psychological torture, exposure to magic and other non-scientifically verifiable consciousness altering agents (see medical form P1371).

 **Asset Status:** Inactive

 **Session Number:** 4 – Unattended

“Come on, Barton. I know you’re in here.”

Clint’s pretty sure he can’t be seen, the pipework he’s lying under should hide him completely from view. He’s equally sure that Phil _does_ know and that he’s not going anywhere until Clint comes out. Begrudgingly he disentangles himself, and crawls over to the access hatch that has Phil’s head sticking out of it. He raises an eyebrow, and the agent moves to let him leap nimbly down.

“Is there any point in asking why you aren’t at your mandatory session?”

“Because she’s stupid.”

“Barton,” Phil sighs reprovingly.

Clint scowls at the wall like a petulant teenager and doesn’t answer.

Phil sinks into his desk chair, the rub of his hand against the scar on his chest drawing Clint’s eyes to his face as he instinctively assesses him, even though he knows it’s _exactly_ what Phil wants him to do. “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” Phil asks, words blunt but tone gentle, like he’s trying to calm a skittish animal.

Clint drops his eyes to the ground and imagines talking. _I bargained with him. He was there the whole time, close enough to touch and toying with them at every step. I was blind unless one of them turned me the right way, totally useless._ “I don’t remember anything.”

“Barton-”

Clint looks up, snarling. “Why won’t any of you _believe_ me?”

Phil bangs a hand down on the table. Hard. “Because it’s _not true_.”

Clint attempts his usual smirk. It feels wrong on his face under Phil’s compassionate gaze. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to call me a liar, sir. I’m traumatised, remember?”

“I’m your friend, Barton. I’m allowed to call you whatever I want.”

“I’m not an expert, sir, but I’m fairly sure that’s not how friendship works.”

“I’ll look into it. Come on, Barton. Talk to me.”

There’s an echoing silence. Then Clint stands.

“Clint,” Phil starts. “Barton.”

“I have to go, sir.”

“Barton-”

“Is there anything else?”

Phil’s face hardens minutely. “Go to your next psych session or I’ll have you under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

*

 _“What do you_ want _?” Steve demands._

_He’s obviously stalling for time, but Loki allows it, tilting his head to one side and ostentatiously pondering the question, though Clint knows he already has an answer. “The archer. Give me the archer and you may go free.”_

_“No,” Tony growls at_ Steve _. “No. You can’t. I won’t let you.”_

_Steve meets Tony’s eyes before dropping to Clint’s. “I know. I wouldn’t.” His voice has the tone of a promise. “Try and take him,” he challenges because Steve is hopelessly brave, and bravery and stupidity are too often synonymous._

_Loki smiles, as though Steve is a child challenging him to a wrestling match. He advances, flanked by the copies. He’s done toying with them now, and this time there are no lucky blows, they are barely given the chance to fight. Clint falls to the ground when one of them grabs Tony’s broken arm and squeezes, grinding the bones together until the billionaire howls, the sound setting his teeth on edge._

_He shouldn’t be able to see much, that, at least should be a blessing, but Loki nudges him,_ just so _, with his boot as he passes and he’s turned enough to see Tony, held in place by two copies. Tony’s face etches with fear as Loki draws a finger around the glowing blue in his chest, exposed where he’s removed his shirt._

_He tries valiantly to head butt Loki, but it’s a futile effort. The face full of blood and spit he does manage, strikes the target as well as Clint could himself, but, like his struggle, it’s pointless._

_Loki ignores it completely. “I cannot change your heart because of this.” He covers the Arc reactor completely with his palm, and his eyes slide sideways, meeting Clint’s as he waits, helpless and frozen and knowing what is about to occur. “But it makes it easy to take your heart entirely.”_

_Loki pulls his hand back, letting the light shimmer for a second, and then digs his fingers in like Natasha had done all those weeks ago, and slides the reactor up and out of Tony’s chest. The wire, the last tether between Tony and his heart, seems impossibly thin._ Don’t _, Clint thinks frantically,_ don’t don’t don’t please Loki, please don’t don’t don’tdon’tdon’t _. A second later he hears Steve echo him, voice ragged._

 _Loki pays them no attention. He smiles at Tony and pulls the wire free. Tony’s breathing hitches in his chest, desperate and struggling. He starts to choke. Steve is screaming desperately, fighting no doubt, Clint can’t turn his gaze away from Tony, wouldn’t even if he could. Tony holds Loki’s gaze, defiant to the end, for as long as he can, but at last, wheezing and red, and struggling for air like a beached fish, his gaze turns down as he curls in on himself._ Please _, Clint thinks again, brokenly._

No, Little Bird _, comes Loki’s placid voice._ I already granted you one boon and that has not yet been paid for. I will not give you another so easily _._

_The frantic sucking for air has stopped now, what little Clint can see of Tony’s face is grey and lifeless. When the copies let go of him, he falls to the ground like so much meat._

_Sparing another glance for Clint, whose eyes are still riveted upward from where Tony fell, unable to see him now, Loki turns on his heel. “And now you, Captain.”_

_Loki stoops, picking Clint up from the ground. He runs a single icy finger all over him, possessive, and Clint would shudder if the skin were his own._

_“I think now is the time to pay for that favour I so graciously granted, don’t you, Little One?”_

_“Whatever,” Clint thinks, dully. He doesn’t care any more, he’s finally achieved the numbness he wanted._

_Loki’s teeth are too sharp and gleaming._

_The pulse of energy when it flows through him feels like nothing so much as sinking into a hot bath at the end of an exhausting mission. He feels nothing but relief as Loki fills him up, takes him over, controls him utterly. He feels nothing but peace in Loki’s hand, at the mercy of his god, where he should be. “Are you ready to die, Captain?” Loki asks the struggling blond figure and Clint feels a surge of self-righteous satisfaction that this heathen, who doesn’t even understand what an honour it is to be spoken to by Loki, to be held by creations of his own, is going to die for his sins._

_“I’m going to kill you,” the figure snarls and Clint wishes he could put an arrow in his eye himself for his disrespect. Loki strokes him gently and he settles, content at the touch. He must be pleasing Loki greatly to have earned such tenderness._

_Loki reaches up the other hand to touch the heathen. “Not if I kill you first,” Loki answers softly. He drops both hands back to Clint, twisting him until he’s in the position Loki wants him in, hands together, as though he’s praying. The sense of peace intensifies. Yes, this is good, this is right. Loki holds him, pushing his hands against the heathen’s throat. He can’t feel it like he should be able to, there is no warmth under his touch, but he can sense the frantic thundering of a terrified pulse._

_“No!” the heathen gasps out, and the satisfaction is back, viciously, furiously pleased that the man who is claimed as America’s greatest soldier knows what his defiance has brought him and that he is afraid of it._

_Loki looks down at him, questioning._

_“_ Yes _,” Clint thinks, instantly. “_ Yes, please. Let me kill him for you. Let me do this, Sire, please. _”_

 _“_ But you are friends, are you not? _”_ _Loki asks uncertainly._

 _Clint’s heart swells, that Loki cares so much for his wellbeing that he would allow him to choose not to follow an order. Out of respect, he considers, but his consideration doesn’t last long. What worth does friendship have when placed against the desire of his god?_ _“_ No, Sire. I care only for you. Let me serve you. Let me kill him for you. Please. _”_

_Loki, his generous god, obliges him and pushes his hands forward harder. He is aware of the soft, wet sensation of flesh tearing under his hands, a brief change in texture between the flesh and muscle of the thick neck and then the rubbery pulsing tube of the artery. He pushes forward, adding what strength he can to Loki’s, wishing he could flex his fingers, rip into this heathen who dares defy his God. There is still no sensation of temperature, but he feels the thick viscous wetness of the blood as it slides down him, coating him. It fills his ears, his nose, his mouth and he revels in the taste._

_The heathen makes one final burbling noise and his eyes roll back. The copies holding him up let him go and he slumps to the floor, already forgotten._

_“_ There, My Hawk, _” croons Loki, cradling him, “_ wasn’t that pleasant? _”_

 _“_ Yes, _” Clint answers again, truthful and fervent. “_ Thank you, Sire. _”_

 _“_ I’m glad, _” Loki says gently. “_ In that case, let us talk. _”_

_He lets go of Clint, and Clint expects to fall, but he doesn’t. In the instant between being held and being overpowered by gravity, he is himself again, standing on his own two feet and eyes his normal hue. He’s still in Loki’s white tiled room. He blinks for a moment, but a glance down tells him he is still soaked with Steve’s blood, the once-pristine floor now streaked with red smears, so dark and thick in the places where the blood has pooled as to appear black. He lurches forwards onto his hands and knees and retches for a second, before crawling to Steve’s still form and rolling him over._

_His throat has been savaged, ripped out. There’s not enough left to even check for a pulse. His eyes are open and empty, gazing vacantly upwards. Clint stifles a sound in his chest and closes them gently, smearing Steve’s face with his own blood as he does so and moves on, training and instinct and sheer desperation driving him to check, however futilely, for survivors._

_Tony too is cold and unmoving. His missing chest piece leaves a grotesque hole. The scuff of a boot against tiles drags his attention back to Loki. He’s standing in the middle of the room, watching him with the impersonally interested expression of a psychologist watching a rat in maze. Clint drags a hand down his white, tearless face, flinching when he realises his hand is still tacky with Steve’s blood._

_He doesn’t have the strength to drag himself to his feet, so he stays on the ground, hunched over Tony’s lifeless body. “Kill me,” he says, voice dry._

_Loki steps forward, his every step echoing unnaturally. Clint doesn’t look up, doesn’t care. “On your hands and knees, Little One.”_

_Clint closes his eyes, swallows and can’t even muster shame. He prises his hand from Tony’s shoulder, and positions himself as Loki has asked. “Please,” he says, soft and steady, “kill me.”_

_Loki crouches down, white fingers tangling in his hair, lips so close to Clint’s that if he puckered he’d press their mouths together. He braces himself for pain, but Loki doesn’t tug, he strokes gently behind his ears, gentling him like a frightened dog. “No, My Hawk. You are mine.”_

_He hooks the hand not in Clint’s hair, but above his elbow, and when he stands, Clint is tugged up with him, relying more on Loki’s strength than his own to keep his feet._

_“You are mine. You shall stand beside me, my soldier once more, and we shall rid the world of those who stood against us: My brother, the monster, your blood-haired bitch.”_

_Clint can’t conceal the flinch. He closes his eyes, a single tear tracking down his face. Loki leans in close, catching the drop on his finger and smearing it across Clint’s own lips, making him taste his weakness._

_“Don’t_ weep _, My Hawk. I shall make you mine first, make you want it, make you enjoy it, make you thrill in their blood gushing over your hands. You remember that feeling, I trust? How glorious it was? All this pain and guilt will be gone. You will_ want _it. You will have peace because you will know you do right.”_

_Clint claws at Loki’s side. “Don’t,” he murmurs, voice rife with despair._

_Loki lets go of him, and he collapses, boneless, back to his knees. He looks up, holding Loki’s attention, unconcerned that he is at the demi-god’s feet. He remembers kneeling like this to tell Loki everything he could ever want to know about Hill and SHIELD, about Fury and Phil, about Tasha._

_Loki tenderly brushes his hair back again. A soft smile on his face, less caustic than any expression Clint has ever seen on the pale, sharp features. “You’ll feel differently in a moment, My Hawk.”_

_“No,” Clint says, simply, no defiance left in him._

_He raises the tiny silver knife his pick-pocketing skills had allowed him to take from Loki’s belt. He doubts his ability to kill Loki with so tiny a weapon, and any outcome which leaves them both alive is unthinkable. But down here, on his knees, he is too far from Loki for the god to easily stop him. He barely hesitates before ramming the blade smoothly into his eye, jamming it deep into his brain. His face twists in a macabre smile, and Loki’s furious countenance is etched into his final memory as he falls into the black._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is just a little mini drabble thingy to round everything off. I'll hopefully have it up for you in a couple of days. Enjoy your weekend!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint was still aware throughout Maladjusted Heroes and Mistaken Geniuses and honestly, the experience was one of the most traumatic things he’s ever been expected to endure. That doesn’t mean he’s going to talk about it. Companion piece to part four of First Impressions and Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-15  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, hurt Clint, mindfuckery, swearing, manipulation, psychological torture, themes of subjugation and non sexual violation, main character death and suicide. I don’t wish to spoiler anything, I should probably note that those with serious triggers involving suicidal thoughts and mindcontrol may want to be careful. Also, although the relationship here between Loki and Clint is entirely unsexual, this is non-con in every way but that and draws on a lot of the themes and images from stories using rape as a central element.  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen (background), pre-slash, protective!Clint  
> Beta: Unbetad. All mistakes are mine.  
> A/N: Final mini chapter just to round this off. I hope you enjoy the optimistic ending - until part 6 anyway. Part 5 of the main series is being beta'd now and will hopefully start posting immanently.

**Part 4 Bonus Feature**

 

 **Agent:** Specialist Clinton Francis Barton **Code Name:** Hawkeye **Serial Number:** 30049670 **Handler:** Senior Agent Philip Coulson

 **Current Deployment:** Avengers Initiative, New York City

 **Attending Psychiatrist:** Doctor Mandy Anderson

 **Reason(s) for Session:** Capture in hostile territory, psychological torture, exposure to magic and other non-scientifically verifiable consciousness altering agents (see medical form P1371).

 **Asset Status:** Inactive

 **Session Number:** 5

“So what do you like doing outside of SHIELD?”

Clint raises a laconic brow. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what you’re supposed to ask me.”

Doctor Anderson shrugs. “You’re not going to tell me anything you don’t want to. I might as well find out what makes you tick.”

Clint drops into his usual chair and examines the floor, checking for new scuff marks or scrapes as he orders his thoughts. “What happened with Loki- What happened to _me_ , both times, wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t…You can’t fight magic when you’re just a regular human.” He straightens in the chair, spreads his hand. “Even Fury couldn’t have done better, even _Phil_ couldn’t.”

The words Natasha has said so many times sound strange on his tongue.

Doctor Anderson nods her agreement, but doesn’t say anything, lets him sit in silence for ten minutes, fifteen, simply gazing at the wall. “It wasn’t my fault,” he repeats again at last, “but I broke free the first time, _Natasha_ broke me free, and then we – The Avengers – beat him. He wanted revenge. He started with us: Steve, Tony and me.”

He doesn’t look at her once, but he talks for the rest of the hour.


End file.
